


Do Or Dye

by Chaz_1789



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Dating, Draco discovers muggle things!, Drarry, Fluff, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 12:58:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13365198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaz_1789/pseuds/Chaz_1789
Summary: Six months after the War Draco found a way to disguise himself without magic. It was fantastic, to conduct his business without being jostled, spat on, or outright attacked.That was until a certain dunderhead blurted out, "Draco?"





	Do Or Dye

 

Draco Malfoy would give muggles this one great redeeming feature: they didn't know who the fuck he was.

This predisposed him to actually like them quite a bit after the War. After six months of simply hiding in the Manor avoiding all public wizarding places, he had ventured out into the local muggle town, if only to ward off going stir-crazy enough to draw on the walls in his own blood.

As cold as it was in November, Draco didn't have any outerwear but cloaks, and there was no way he was venturing into muggle territory in a cloak. He may not know much about them, but he was aware of how little fashion sense they had. And so he trudged through the light sleet in his smart trousers and cashmere jumper, thankful that he had at least been able to wrap a scarf around his face - serving the dual purpose of keeping him warmer and obscuring his identity just in case a wizard or witch were nearby.

But no cries of recognition came his way. No shouts of 'Death Eater scum!' or muttered curses behind hands. Barely anyone even paid him a second glance; and it was bloody fantastic! His steps became a lot more confident each time he headed out to the town centre, as he familiarised himself with the geography of the place.

As far as muggle towns in Wiltshire went, it could've been worse. He no longer had a wand, so he couldn't apparate, but he enjoyed the walk through the countryside to get there. After being stuck in the same place that was steeped both in happy childhood memories and nauseating flashbacks of the Dark Lord's residency, Draco relished the exercise for clearing his head.

He had no muggle money either, so he mostly just walked about, asked a couple of old muggles where there may be a nice park or an attraction of some sort. They'd directed him to something called 'The Information Point' which had turned out to be a woman behind a desk in the town library armed to the teeth with pamphlets on various local sights. He'd struggled less than he'd anticipated in what had been the longest conversation with a muggle he'd ever engaged in, asking her about what free attractions there were to visit. Not all that many at this time of year it seemed but he still found a few landmarks and old muggle businesses that had free tours or open days.

And something happened during his familiarisation with the small town. Something he never saw coming from a mile off. And something he could almost _hear_ Granger scoffing at him for.

He was genuinely _impressed_ by muggles! He was floored by the ingenuity of them! The old bakers and mills and museums he'd been to had highlighted a fascinating array of tools and machines and feats of engineering that stunned him in their intelligence and their simplicity. And he knew that muggles had eleficity and cars and everything now, but most of these things had been invented hundreds of years ago! They may not have magic but muggles could be bloody smart!

He considered vaguely the Muggle Studies classes he'd derided and wondered if they would have captured his interest quite like immersing himself in muggle culture and history had done. Then he thought of Charity Burbage and tried not to be sick in a hedgerow.

As his ability to explore the area within walking distance became more hampered by his lack of funds, he decided that he'd need to take the plunge, Floo into Diagon Alley and take some of his galleons to Gringotts and convert them into muggle currency. He was not relishing the prospect. He didn't have his wand, neither did his mother, so no magical disguise. He didn't have an invisibility cloak like _some_ scarred, speccy people and he didn't trust his luck blending in anywhere. His photo had been splashed across the pages of the Prophet liberally during the trials.

It was during his next visit to town that he had his flash of inspiration. He was walking past something confusingly called _Boots_ , that definitely did not sell boots of any kind when he spotted a row of shelves containing small cardboard boxes with people's faces on them, all sporting vapid smiles but, more importantly, different shades of hair. He surmised from the display, grouping different colours together that these must be colourants of some kind for one's hair.

Draco's hair was beautiful. A striking white-blonde that glowed about his head like a crown. It was soft and smooth and elegant. His hair was perfect naturally. It was, however, extremely recognisable. Like Hagrid's height or _somebody's_ bright green eyes, and it was sure to be spotted straight away in Diagon Alley, even if he did wear a hood (although he'd probably get more attention if he hid under a cowl, nothing shouted _**suspicious**_ quite like hiding your whole face under a hooded cloak!). So, without magic to aid him, he would do this the muggle way!

He still didn't have any money, but felt only the tiniest twinge of guilt as he selected a box and hid it under his jumper as he exited the store, grateful for other customers distracting the cashier. On his personal scale of sins, petty theft would rank pretty damn low. He'd got home, headed straight to his rooms, and then opened the box to reveal the contents.

Out fell various tubes and bottles and sachets and, thankfully, a page of instructions. They were, as the box promised, 'Nice'n'Easy' to follow, and not two hours later Draco was removing his now fairly stained towel to reveal a head of light chestnut hair.

He just stared in the mirror for a while.

He barely recognised himself. This was utterly bizarre. And brilliant! If _he_ didn't recognise his own reflection, which he was very well acquainted with, then it stood to reason that the general public in Diagon Alley wouldn't be able to either. His hair had grown a decent amount in six months too, and he experimented with wearing it forward, rather than swept back like he used to, and found it disguised him even more. Another stroke of genius later and he was pulling on his grandfather's reading glasses and...

No. No way in Hades _anyone_ would recognise him like this!

Dressed in his most muggle attire he looked for all the world like a different boy, and, even though he was still a little worried about returning to the busiest wizarding district in Britain, he had fresh confidence.

Stopping by his mother's study, he paused in the doorway. She was reading in a chair near the fireplace.

"I'm heading into Diagon Alley, is there anything you want picking up?" he asked.

If the expression on her face was confused at his words, then it was gobsmacked as she laid eyes upon him.

"D–Draco! What on earth–"

"Ingenious isn't it?" he beamed, "What do you think? Likely anyone will identify me in London?" He gave her a twirl with his arms out. She just shook her head dumbly, eyes still wide as saucers. "Excellent. I'll use the bit of Floo Powder we have left and get some more while I'm there."

And with that he strode down to the magnificent marble fireplace in the entrance hall, and, after lighting a small fire via matches (but damn, damn and double damn he wanted his wand back so much!) he sped across the country in a flurry of emerald flames.

  
~

  
His new look had _exactly_ the desired effect.

Keeping his eyes on the pavement, Draco actually managed to get almost everything done. He procured muggle currency ('pounds and pence', he was reliably informed by the goblin who attended him), bought more potion ingredients (because he'd be damned if he'd start taking the ineffectual Dreamless Sleep sold at the potioneers in Diagon) and he was just on his way to Wiseacre's when he was impeded by a large crowd in the street.

Not wanting to hang around too many people he managed to slip past the excited gaggle and start to make his way down the street. Only then did he see what all the fuss was about. A mop of disastrous black hair was visible above the heads of the onlookers and just as Draco realised who it was, Harry Potter turned in his direction.

Draco looked away as quickly as possible and all but ran down the street and into the wizarding equipment shop. Phew! That had been close. But he was pretty sure he'd got away unidentified by the boy who couldn't walk down the road without being mauled by fans. Draco laughed a little at the fact that neither he nor Potter could walk down Diagon Alley unimpeded without disguising themselves. Of course, for very different reasons, but still.

Draco browsed the shelves, picking up what he needed, and turned to the till to pay. But someone was already there. And of bloody course it was Potter. He looked to be ordering something from the aged, stumpy little man behind the counter, so Draco pulled himself unobtrusively into a corner, waiting for the transaction to be over and training his eyes on the floor again.

He heard the conversation cease and was about to walk up to pay for his things when he was halted dead in his tracks by an irksomely familiar voice.

"Draco?"

Draco let out a sigh. He had chosen a nondescript medium brown, attempting to be as ordinary and mundane as he could in order to camouflage himself. But obviously it hadn't worked on at least one person. Sodding Saint Potter. Draco turned around to face the gormless idiot, who was looking quite as guppy-faced as Draco remembered. But stubblier. And taller. And broader.

"You've...your..." Potter was being as eloquent as always it seemed.

"Draco?" the deep voice of the shop owner then piped up, "As in Malfoy? No! No, I won't be serving his kind in here, you can take your business elsewhere!"

Potter turned back to the man. "Mr Wheatcroft, segregation is not the thing we fought so hard for, and Draco Malfoy helped the War effort in ways you can't know," he said in a chillingly commanding tone that Draco had not heard before. It shot right down his spine to his toes. Potter's voice was deeper now too. "So you will serve him the exact same way you served me: With respect."

Both Draco and Wheatcroft wore identical expressions of shock as Potter finished his speech. Potter just looked expectantly at Wheatcroft until he said, "Very well, Mr Potter. Mr Malfoy, can I ring those items up for you?"

Draco paid for his things as quickly as possible and turned to leave, hoping against hope that Potter had already gone. Turns out it was a forlorn hope. He was still standing in the shop, seemingly waiting for Draco to finish.

"It's okay, I don't think he's going to hex me, you can stand down," Draco said, trying not to sound too impolite. It wouldn't do to seem ungrateful. Potter just continued to stare at him with an expression of deep curiosity.

"Look, Potter, thanks, okay, but I do need to be getting back."

"Sure thing, Mal–"

"Could you refrain from using my name, by any chance? You see how people tend to react to it," Draco jerked his head back to where Mr Wheatcroft was now watching them sullenly.

"Oh, of course, I...sorry." It was unbelievably strange hearing Potter apologise to him. Or talk to him without insulting him. Or just use a civil tone. This was shaping up to be one of the most bizarre days of his life. Potter blinked. "You look–"

"Totally different, yes, that's sort of the point. It's called going incognito. From the looks of the crowd outside you should try it sometime."

"Yeah, Ron's got my invisibility cloak," said Potter shiftily.

"Do I even want to–?"

"No," he said quickly. Still more bizarrely, Potter then smiled at him, for possibly the first time in his life. Draco's stomach flipped. "So what do you think? Should I go blonde?" he asked, still smiling. "You did use muggle hair dye on it, right?"

"Well, how else was I supposed to colour it? It's not like I have a wand anymore," Draco bit out coldly. Potter's smile fell.

"Speaking of, would you, I mean, would it be okay if...could I drop by the Manor tomorrow?"

Alright, this was getting a bit too surreal. A bit too fucking surreal and Draco just wanted to be back home already.

"Okay," was all he managed to get out before he followed his eager feet out of the shop and back to the Leaky, then home.

~

As bizarre as his day in Diagon Alley had been it was not to be outdone by the day that came after.

He'd been so distracted by just how disconcerting his shopping trip had been that he plumb forgot to give his mother any kind of warning that they'd be getting a visitor. However, the next day when the doorbell rang, it was his mother who answered it and Draco had only reached the top of the staircase as she did.

There he was, Harry Potter, standing at the threshold. And there was his mother, in utter disregard of all her upbringing, of all etiquette, after opening the door, placing her arms around Potter and hugging him. He looked surprised and Draco could only catch the faintest edge of a muffled sob, then Potter was saying, "You're welcome, you kind of saved me too." And then they were pulling apart, Potter looking a little awkward.

Draco made his way down the stairs to greet him just as his mother took a small sniff, bright-eyed.

"Morning, Potter," he said.

"Would you care to come in for tea, Mr Potter?" his mother asked.

"Oh, no thank you that's okay, I really just came to talk to Draco." Potter looked to him, and Draco didn't know what to think.

"Did you want to come in?" hazarded Draco. At the look on Potter's face he added; "Or maybe we could take a walk?"

"Yeah, a walk sounds good...um, lead the way?"

They strolled together down the Manor drive, not speaking, and with each step Draco's confusion simply grew. How the hell was this his day? They made it to the front gates, still in silence and Draco followed muscle memory and turned them onto the road that would lead to the adjacent town. Eventually, when it seemed Potter was never going to get round to opening his mouth, Draco spoke.

"So, to what do I owe the dubious pleasure of a visit from the Saviour, who asks to come to my house but doesn't want to actually go into my house?" In his peripheral vision he saw Potter rub the back of his neck awkwardly as he kept in step with Draco.

"I haven't seen you since the trials," Potter said out of the blue, not looking at him. "You look good– better. You look better...than you did, back then."

"Truth be told I barely remember the trials," Draco tried to say casually. "Sort of a side effect of the Dementors and exhaustion. I do know you spoke for us. From what I hear that's what saved all of us from the Kiss." Draco glanced sideways at Potter whose eyes were still resolutely trained ahead. "I didn't think you'd appreciate hearing from me after everything but I will take this opportunity to say thank you. You didn't have to."

"Yes I did." Potter had said it with such conviction that Draco slowed down to a stop. Potter slowed too, then finally turned to him. "I just mean, I wouldn't have let that happen. You didn't deserve it."

Draco was standing face to face in a country lane with Harry Potter, who was telling him that he didn't think Draco was the scum of the universe. Understandably, his brain (and heart, it seemed) were having a little trouble doing their jobs right. His feet however got the memo and started walking again before he opened his mouth to say something unintelligible.

They walked on, again in silence with this one, if possible, even weightier than the last. Despite the frantic buzzing in Draco's head, there didn't seem to be one cohesive thought being seen through to the end in there. Just an awful lot of half-formed, unanswerable questions. So he didn't risk opening his mouth.

As they made the final left into the outskirts of the town Potter finally seemed to become aware of his surroundings – until now he'd just seemed oblivious to everything. Draco could have led him anywhere! Potter squinted through his hideous spectacles at the buildings around them, at the small fountain they approached in the town square.

"Uh...where are we?" he asked.

"The picturesque town of Alling Burrell," Draco said, still walking them onwards.

"But...it's a _muggle_ town," Potter whispered, as if Draco hadn't noticed.

"I know. It happens to have a highly recommended railway museum I've yet to visit." He cast a look Potter's way and noted that his eyebrows had disappeared behind his shaggy fringe.

Without a word he directed them through cobbled side alleys to where he knew the museum to be. As they entered the old, converted ticket office, Draco made the decision that he might as well get Potter a ticket too. He'd not had any company bar his mother and occasionally Pansy for months now, and neither of them accompanied him on his wanderings. It might be fun to do this with somebody...even if that somebody was a fairly un-talkative Potter (given their history, though, perhaps the fewer words, the better).

As Draco made to pay using his new pounds, Potter nudged his elbow and pulled at a greenish note instead of the blueish one he'd been about to use. He used that one instead and successfully completed his first ever transaction with muggle money – he actually felt a little proud of himself.

"You even have muggle money," Potter muttered disbelievingly as they followed the arrows directing them around exhibits.

"That was why I was in Diagon yesterday. How else am I meant explore the locale? Did you know that two of the muggles who pioneered photography were born near here?"

"No, I didn't. And I didn't think you'd have the faintest clue either."

"Muggles they're...some of the things they've come up with without a single drop of magic, it's crazy! I mean look at this, they created the steam train a hundred odd years ago. Sure, we can tweak it to run on magic but a _muggle_ came up with this!" he finished, gesturing to a wall of technical drawings of steam engines.

Potter looked like he was trying to hold back a bemused smile, rather unsuccessfully, and Draco hoped the heat creeping up his face was not translating to pink as it went north. They continued around the exhibits, into adjacent buildings and onto the platform, where more history was displayed on large printed placards. Just as they finished their tour Draco's stomach gave a hearty rumble.

"I concur," said Potter simply. "I saw a bakery on the way here. Bacon butties sound good?"

They actually rather did, so Draco nodded and they nipped into the fabulous smelling bakery and emerged with one large, greasy, bacon-stuffed roll apiece. They perched at the side of the fountain as they ate.

"Sounds like you know this place pretty well," said Potter thickly as he chewed his sandwich. He swallowed, "Anywhere else you've wanted to check out?"

There were several, in fact, so that was how Harry Potter and Draco spent the afternoon exploring an ancient granary (in which Draco might have gone on a little bit of a rant about how creatively muggles used gravity) a natural history museum and finally a cake shop. Not because the cake shop had any historical significance, it was just because it looked like bloody good cake and Draco now had the means to purchase it!

The sun had well and truly set by the time they finished their cake, sitting by the window in the warm patisserie. As they stood to leave, Draco remembered.

"You never did answer my question earlier." Potter looked at him, puzzled. "Why you wanted to meet? I might be wrong but I'm pretty sure it wasn't to eat cake."

"Oh, yes! Uh...could we step outside?"

With a tightening in his stomach Draco followed Potter out of the cafe and round the corner into a dimly lit alleyway. The tightening increased along with Draco's pulse. Potter stood facing him, right hand in his pocket. Draco met his eyes, albeit warily. But when Potter drew out that hand Draco recognised what was in it immediately.

"My wand," he breathed.

"Yeah. Here," Potter said, holding it out for Draco to take, "you can have it back."

With only slightly trembling hands Draco took back his wand and felt a shudder as his fingers closed around it, just brushing Potter's, his magic singing through his veins.

"I thought for sure they'd snapped it in half," he said quietly, then frowned a little. "Why are you returning it now?"

A dark look clouded over Potter's features.

"The Ministry insisted on doing tests on it, after it defeated Voldemort, to see if there was something in the wand that was special. Then they kept it. I did ask, but they kept making excuses. I'm sorry, I think they just weren't keen because they knew I wanted to return it to you. I kicked up a fuss but I only got it back this week."

"Oh."

They stood for a moment in that dark, narrow alley. The buzzing was back in Draco's brain and his stomach still hadn't fully untwisted.

"It's getting chilly, I guess we should be setting off," said Potter. "Although, I suppose you could apparate now, if you wanted."

"Well, I don't know about you but I've got one gargantuan bacon roll and a slice of Belgian chocolate cake to walk off," he said, attempting casual, but probably achieving desperate (he didn't want to apparate but didn't particularly feel like walking home alone in the dark either).

Potter smiled. "Yeah, I could do with the exercise too."

Draco smiled back, relieved.

Although as far as Draco could tell, the last thing Potter needed to do was exercise. From the looks of him he was in pretty damn good shape, slim still, yes, but not skinny anymore. The slight swell of muscles certainly not there before made themselves apparent whenever he pulled his jacket across his shoulders, and his jeans were anything but baggy these days.  
  
Still, they strolled the mile or so back to the Manor together, Draco relishing the feel of having his wand back in his possession. It felt slightly warm against his leg as it sat in his pocket, the warmth filling him up as his magic tingled and danced. That was due to having his wand back, surely.

They stopped as they reached the ornate gates of the Manor. After a totally bizarre but surprisingly fun day out with Potter, Draco felt a bit wrong-footed as to what to do next. For the first time in his life he could genuinely say he wasn't too keen on the idea of Potter leaving – and that felt damn unsettling!

"Would you like to come in for some tea?" he asked lightly.

"Thanks," said Potter, "but I should be getting back. I said I'd drop by the Burrow this evening, so best not make it too late. But today was interesting. Fun. I never thought I'd see you enjoying muggle stuff!"

"Honestly, neither did I," Draco replied truthfully.

"You've changed," Potter said with a touch of something in his voice Draco didn't recognise. "You're much more bearable for starters," he continued in a more familiar tone.

"Ha! Yes, well there's nothing quite like being consistently threatened with torture for a year by a band of psychopaths then almost put in prison to shed some light on one's own behaviour."

He'd not meant it to come out so baldly, and the silence that followed the statement was tense. Potter shifted in place.

"Well, I'd better be off." He drew his wand to apparate, but paused with it in the air. "By the way," he looked at Draco, one side of his mouth crooking up as he did so, "I like the hair."

And, with a crack, Draco was staring at the empty spot where Potter had just been, utterly unsure of how he should be reacting to that last statement. Or the last six hours.

~

"You went on a date with Harry Potter?" said Pansy blankly.

"What? No! Of course I didn't."

They were sitting in his private parlour, Pansy having Flooed in without warning some minutes before. From what he could tell she had fled her home because it was playing host to the wedding planning for her least favourite cousin.

She levelled a shrewd stare at him.

"Let's see: he asked to meet, you accepted, you went out to the town and saw some sights, got some food. Just you two alone, enjoying each other's company. Then he walked you home...?"

There was a good long silence.

"Pansy, it seems I may have gone on a date with Harry Potter."

"Was he a gentleman?" she sniggered.

"Oh shut up," Draco snapped, replaying the previous afternoon in his head, trying to suss it out. "I don't think he knew it was a date– or, _thought_ it was a date. I mean, Merlin, _I_ certainly didn't!"

"Well, there's only one way to find out if Potter thinks it was a date."

"...Ask him?"

"Oh heavens no, Draco, no one does that! No, you invite him out again and see if he agrees, now he's given back your wand and has no 'official reason' to meet up."

"You're saying the way I ascertain if I went on a date with Potter...is to go on _another_ date with Potter?"

"That's how you ascertain if he liked it."

"Well, he didn't punch me at any point, I thought that was rather a promising sign."

"A high bar there, Draco, very nice."

"Careful, or I will send you straight back to making place settings for your ghastly cousin." This earned him a scathing glare.

But, she had a point. Now he looked back on the whole thing, it did appear suspiciously date-like, gods, he'd even invited him up for tea at the end! He wondered how differently things might have gone if Potter had said yes...

A cushion thwumped him in the face.

"Back to the present Draco." Pansy looked thoughtful. "How was being in London again? Did you get recognised by anyone else?"

"No, the hair worked. Very effectively on every single person other than Potter, who recognised me in about a second from across the road and through a crowd of people."

"Wow, I knew he'd been obsessed with you in sixth year but that's really quite something. _I_ didn't even recognise you! That clinches it."

"Pansy, I don't thi–"

"We're sending an owl," she said imperiously, and Draco knew better than to argue with that tone. Especially since he was a little (a lot) intrigued to see if Potter would actually reply.

After draft number eight Draco was slowly beginning to realise that there was no way to phrase this without it being awkward as fuck. And, once she'd insisted she wasn't watching him agonise over another piece of paper, Pansy snatched the ninth draft from his hands, sealed it up in an addressed envelope and bound it to the leg of Iris, who then flapped on out of the window.

Draco only had to wait until he was getting into bed that evening before a tapping at the window brought his response. It was, honestly, sooner than he'd expected. In fact, a good proportion of his conviction had been that he would receive no response at all – either that or a howler. His letter had only consisted of a brief suggestion that the cake shop in Alling Burrell might be worth a second visit, but, as he read Potter's much longer reply, his stomach flipped.

  
_I was going to owl you about seeing some more places, actually. How about heading into muggle London next? I'm not saying Alling Burrell wasn't a whirlwind of fun, but there's somewhere I think you'd enjoy seeing. The Science Museum. I've never been there myself but I've heard it's good, full of muggle inventions and whatnot._

_Now you've got your wand you can alter your appearance if you're worried about that. I may do the same, but if you meet me at Thurloe Square Gardens then we can walk to the museum. Just say something distinctive when we meet to let me know it's you (I'm sure you'll think of something!)_

_11am the day after tomorrow work for you?_

_— Harry_

  
Draco could feel the burning glow in his cheeks like a bloody bonfire.

So, not only had Potter thought about going out again, not only had he been about to owl too, he'd even considered where Draco might enjoy going...and called himself _Harry_. Were they on first name terms? Potter seemed to think so. Draco wasn't sure he'd be able to think of him as anything other than Potter though. Old habits and all.

Oh, Pansy would have a field day with that letter. It was a good thing she'd never see it. Rushing over to his desk he scribbled off a quick reply.

  
_I'll see you there. Somehow, I don't think you'll have any trouble recognising me, no matter what I do to my face._

_Until Wednesday then,_

_~ Draco ~_

~

Pansy had indeed made an ungodly noise at him when he relayed that Potter had replied thusly. He worried for a brief moment that she'd ruptured something. Alas, no, she still felt well enough to spend the entire next day dressing Draco up like a doll and passing comment on what he ought to wear. He actually forced her out of his rooms and home after the fifth insinuation that Potter would prefer it if Draco arrive in nothing at all. Enough was enough!

After less than the optimal amount of sleep, Draco stood before his mirror the next morning. He had played with the proportions of his features, before deciding that in muggle London he was unlikely to meet any unfriendly wizarding faces. Not to mention the hair, glasses and clothes had successfully hoodwinked everybody else before. So, he simply cast a disillusionment charm over himself so as not to attract attention when he apparated.

With a stumble, he landed on soft green grass within a well kept public garden; after months kept stationary his apparition had been a little less than smooth – he was glad Potter hadn't seen that. He checked the coast was clear before removing his disillusionment and strolled towards a spot where he thought he'd be easily visible. As he rounded a corner of the footpath he stopped short at a sight which had him doubling over involuntarily.

Oh gods, he couldn't _breathe!_

The sound of his loud, uncontrollable laughter jolted Potter out of his reverie and he turned towards Draco, who was now supporting himself on a nearby tree.

"Hey, I didn't laugh at your hair!" said Potter, indignantly.

Draco fought for breath – honestly, this was too much.

"No, no, you're right, I'm sorry," he gulped through his giggles, "it's just... Maybe blonde's not your thing?"

The ash blonde mop that sat atop Potter's head looked _ridiculous_. His disastrous mess of hair was just about passable when its natural black, but this way, contrasting with his dark skin – it just looked like a terrible beige wig. Draco valiantly held in a fresh wave of guffaws.

Frowning, Potter raised his wand and tapped at his hair a few times. Smoothly it darkened itself into a mid brown, not too dissimilar from Draco's own hair colour. It looked distinctly less ridiculous. Draco smiled, still chortling slightly.

"Much better," he said approvingly. Potter rolled his eyes, but couldn't quite hold back a smile of his own. He'd changed his glasses too, to be more square and his fringe covered that instantly recognisable scar, but apart from that had not altered anything else about his appearance.

"Think you'll be able to walk?" Potter asked dryly.

"Yes, I think I'm sufficiently recovered," replied Draco and they started together towards the bustling street.

Embarrassed as he was to admit it, Potter had been so very right. The Science Museum sent Draco into transports of delight! The sheer breadth and depth of muggle innovation and insight kept here was captivating. He was already planning to find some books on science and have a dig into this 'chemistry' thing because it seemed to share an awful lot in common with potions.

There were interactive exhibits, tons of historical displays and a glass bridge they walked across which looked to be held up with nothing but silver thread!

"How this isn't kept up by magic, I'll never know," muttered Draco quietly as they stopped on the bridge so Draco could see just how thin the metal wires supporting it were. Would both books on science _and_ engineering be a bit too much, he wondered.

"You're so different," Potter marvelled quietly. Draco tried not to hear the soft edge of awe and pleasure in the statement. He also tried not to blush as he turned to face him.

"You sure it's not just the hair throwing you off?" Draco quipped, trying to lighten the moment.

"I won't deny, I am a fan of the hair. Truly. Possibly the glasses too. Although, there is something to be said for blondes," Potter said, smiling. Draco burned so thoroughly there was no way he was any less than crimson. "But no, it's most definitely not just the hair," Potter finished, before strolling away along the glass gantry leaving Draco aflame.

They took a break for lunch during which they held the longest pleasant conversation they'd _ever_ had. It was...strange as all hell, but surprisingly easy. They skirted around the War and kept to slightly easier topics, such as what Potter was doing with his time (renovating the old Black townhouse, which Draco hadn't seen since he was a child) and discussing what they'd seen already at the museum. Draco did try to keep from going on too much about that –he knew himself, he could've gone on all day– but Potter never looked like he was tired of listening, he sat there, attentive, taking in every word.

Every time Draco looked up, Potter had this small smile playing on his mouth and an expression that Draco could only describe as fond. And even though it was wonderful not to be looked at like a mangled flobberworm for once, the problem it caused was that Draco would then stutter over his words and have to look away, his insides fluttering. He was sure Potter knew exactly what he was doing and continuing to do so on purpose.

Their puddings arrived and Potter took a large bite of his chocolate cake, moaning a little around it as his eyes slid shut. "Oh, wow," he said.

"That good?" asked Draco, his mouth feeling suddenly dry, noting the bob of Potter's Adam's apple.

"Amazing. Here," and Potter raised a forkful of the pudding up to Draco. It took a second for him to realise what was happening. And then Draco just had to look away, simply _had_ to, because there was no way he was maintaining eye contact whilst Potter _fed him dessert across a table!_

Draco leaned in and, determinedly looking at the fork not its holder, took the bite of cake being offered. It was indeed _very_ good. He closed his own eyes (yes from deliciousness but also to avoid catching Potter's eyes as something entered his mouth) and hummed slightly in agreement. It was rich and chocolatey and coated his mouth smoothly. He was rather regretting his own choice of cheesecake now.

He swallowed and opened his eyes. Potter was looking at him with blown pupils, his jaw clamped tightly shut and a strong pink tinge sitting high on his cheeks. Draco had certainly never seen Potter look like that before.

"...that is very good," Draco said quietly after a few seconds staring, during which his brain kicked back into action.

The rest of the museum, for Draco at least, was spent being hyper aware of their proximity as they walked around. Potter wasn't walking so close that it was unusual, just close enough that Draco was almost waiting for their shoulders to bump or their hands to brush. Draco also couldn't stop thinking about the cake incident. There was no question about it, that couldn't be passed off as wholly platonic, and Draco was starting to get slightly sweaty palms...

An hour or so later, once they'd seen the whole Science Museum, they stood outside together, tension building yet again in the silence as they avoided making direct eye contact. Well, Draco was avoiding direct eye contact, Potter might be fine. He wouldn't know, he wasn't looking.

"So," said Potter eventually, "we could call it a day if you want, or..."

"Or?"

"The Natural History Museum is just around the corner. Or if you've had enough educational fun we could, I don't know, go see a film or something?" There was a cautiously hopeful inflection to Potter's words.

"I've...never seen a film," replied Draco honestly. "It was too muggle for Father to allow. I've heard that they're quite fun." Potter grinned at him.

"I promise, if you don't have fun, I'll buy you dinner after," he said with a cheeky wink. Draco wasn't sure how much more of this he could take without spontaneously combusting.

The film was indeed immense fun. It was an adventurous tale of an outlaw in a mask, saving some part of America from evil people and seducing a beautiful woman in the process. It rather reminded him of one of his mother's romance novels that he'd sneaked away when he was a child. The jokes had been funny and the action exhilarating, he'd almost whooped out loud on a couple of occasions but caught himself just in time, and as he left the auditorium, Potter by his side, he was full of energy and sporting a wide grin. Potter looked at him, goofy grin plastered across his own face.

"So, didn't enjoy that at all, huh?"

"No, not a bit," Draco said, not even trying to rein in his smile, "it seems like you owe me dinner."

And to his credit, Potter did buy him dinner at a restaurant near the cinema. Another first for Draco as they dined on Indian food. Potter laughed as Draco stole a mouthful of his curry and spent the next few minutes chugging water gracelessly, eyes watering, and cursing Potter in between gulps. Why would anyone ever make food that did that to a person?!

"Some people like it," Potter had said, still laughing, "That's why I ordered you the korma. But serves you right for stealing off my plate!"

Draco's food was much, much nicer to be fair, and by the time the after dinner mints came and the bill had been settled, he was far too stuffed to want to do anything but sink into a stupor. Potter looked to be in a similar state.

Draco was brought sharply out of his haze though when, as Potter shifted in his chair, his foot bumped against Draco's own. The bump had been accidental, but the decision to leave it there was surely deliberate.

"I know we're not supposed to apparate whilst intoxicated, but does it count if you're drunk on curry?" Potter asked. The words percolated slowly, the majority of Draco's attention still being on the warm press of Potter's bony ankle against his.

"I for one don't think I trust myself to apparate in this condition. Not that my apparition earlier was all that smooth anyway," admitted Draco. "It seems one can get rusty after a while." The pressure on his ankle increased just a fraction.

"Well, inebriated on food though we may be, it's probably time we vacate the table," Potter said, "that waiter over there is giving me a funny look."

And so they stood –Draco's ankle now feeling mighty cold– and made their way out onto the street. Even on a Wednesday evening in November London was still busy, dozens of muggles in identical suits marching past them on their way home. They strolled for a while, and Draco appreciated the cool air, waking him up and making him feel less intensely full. He followed Potter's lead as they seemingly just ambled along for the hell of it for a while. But eventually they turned into a small, secluded side street and Potter raised his arm out to Draco, who looked at him, confused.

"You said your apparition was a bit dodgy," said Potter, looking sheepish but still holding out his arm, and Draco cottoned on that he was offering sidealong as a means to get home.

"Oh, thank you." Draco linked his arm through Potter's, trying to ignore the great swoosh of tingles that swept through his body as he did. And next thing he knew they were back on a familiar country road, having landed a hundred yards or so from the entrance to the family estate.

Reluctantly he uncoupled their arms and they made towards to the Manor. They were both walking quite slowly. Neither attempted to speed up despite the cold.

"I really enjoyed today," said Potter as they ambled.

"Me too," Draco answered. "It turns out I'm liking a lot of things I never though I would: muggle culture, films, curry... you..." He heard Potter's footsteps falter and his heart hammered. He didn't _think_ he was going to get hexed (or punched) but he was still nervous.

They continued on up the path, surrounded by the cold, still quiet of the country. They rounded a curve in the lane and the imposing Manor gates came into view. Within a minute they'd reached them and come to a stop. Draco looked at the hedge.

"It is amazing how much can change in six months," he said evenly. "Before the other day we'd not spoken since the Battle and I–"

"We did speak actually," interjected Potter, sounding...odd. Draco looked up. "Just before you went into court."

Draco's brow furrowed. "I don't..."

"'Potter. In another life; what we could have been together. I ruined it. Forgive me'." Draco's eyes widened and he blushed deeply scarlet. He didn't remember that at all! "You did seem pretty out of it, you were practically being held up by the guards but you reached out and took my hand as I walked past." Draco's stomach sank a bit and he shuffled his feet. Potter noticed.

"Oh, it didn't change what I said in court that day," he said quickly, misinterpreting why Draco was feeling uneasy, "I'd already decided what I'd do but, just...'In another life'..."

"It made me think," continued Potter, ignoring Draco's blush, "Your life, wasn't wholly yours. Neither was mine really. And we both made mistakes and bad choices – I mean don't get me wrong, it does not excuse you being the worlds biggest twat in school – but..." He trailed off, looking at the sky.

"Yes?" asked Draco quietly, inching forward slightly.

"Well, now that He's gone," Harry finally looked at him, "isn't this another life? Or, another chance at it? At the stuff we messed up or missed before?"

Draco kissed him.

He'd not planned it. And it was without a doubt the craziest thing he'd ever done. But he couldn't have controlled it if he'd tried.

Potter just blinked as Draco pulled back from the admittedly brief kiss. Draco let go of the front of his jumper and took a step back.

"We could do it differently like that, sure, I guess," Potter said, still blinking in a stunned sort of way.

Draco was confused. Not only by his own ridiculous, brash behaviour but by Potter. He was saying 'okay' but he was still as a statue, looking like he just got smacked, not kissed. Draco had seen both faces, and yes, they were very similar.

"So," Draco said, reasoning that he may as well –now that he'd apparently gone completely insane– keep going with it, "would you like to do it again?"

"Yes," exhaled Potter immediately.

"Okay."

He stepped back up to Potter and, much more gently this time, reached a hand up to the side of his face. He didn't draw away, and his eyes never left Draco's, so Draco leaned in and pressed his lips softly to Potter's. And the second time around this was much, _much_ better. Not just because Draco was actually aware of and in control of what his body was doing, but because this time, Potter kissed him back.

The She-Weasel had been damn lucky and a fool. If Draco had got to do this before anyone else, he wouldn't have let Potter go! He was _very_ good at it. They stood entwined outside the gates of the Manor for a long time and when they finally pulled back from each other, they were both flushed, dishevelled and noticeably out of breath.

"Would you like to come in for tea?" Draco panted, still wrapped in Potter's arms.

"I'd like to come in," breathed Potter, "forget the tea."

And Draco did forget the tea. Might have in fact forgotten his own name by the time he finally collapsed, exhausted and satiated several hours later and fell asleep, a warm, snuggly Potter shaped lump by his side.

The last thought to shamble its way across his mind was that, overall, he didn't mind that his disguise hadn't been absolutely one hundred percent successful – the risk had definitely been worth it.

 

~


End file.
